


I’ll always paint my love for you

by rainbowslovehl (Larrymateforlife)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Artist Harry, Artist Louis, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Smut, Pining, and Louis love each other too much, fate plays a big role, its only fluff and humour, like barely no angst, oh and french, there is hell lot of dramatics and sarcastic responses, they’re also romantics so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 09:21:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8096623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larrymateforlife/pseuds/rainbowslovehl
Summary: “You have this whole French vibe going there.”The man chuckled deeply, ducking his head slightly but Louis could see the dimple sprouting on his left cheek. “Not really.” He gave a half shrug, focusing only on the canvas. Okay, Louis didn’t like being left unanswered. So he said something stupid.“The beret and the fancy coat thing.” On second thoughts, the coat might not be all that French but. “I won’t be surprised if you are French.”Seriously, what was Louis even thinking saying that line! Obviously he isn’t French. He doesn’t have that accent from when he spoke! ... Where being dramatic is the way to go and fate plays a big role.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I know nothing about art or how art galleries work so I took liberties with it and it could be a reach too far. If something is horribly inaccurate about art galleries, I’m so, so sorry.  
> Additional information: I kind of put Louis’s character on the asexual spectrum. It won’t really matter because that’s something which isn’t mentioned but if you wanna know. Both of them are seriously dramatic, exaggerating people so yeah.  
> I’d like to thank my two betas Bella and Dolan for helping me edit this fic. I love you both.

Louis moved through the crowd, dodging the strangers walking down the streets with a purposeful look on their faces and determination in their eyes. Louis, on the other hand, looked like a tourist amongst the suit-clad people. His hair was messed with all the ruffling the wind had helped with and his clothes were wrinkly. He had no destination in sight and no urgency in his stride. He could go anywhere he wanted to, like the free bird he was.

He had been having a hard time being trapped in his flat – uninspired and bored. Sleeping and ordering take out did get tiring after months of following the routine. Who knew? So he thought, why not change it a bit. Maybe fresh air and a change of scenery would help him get a fresh perspective on his thoughts. So far, nothing changed, or happened except the increase in the noise level of his surroundings.

The trip wouldn’t have to be entirely futile, though. Maybe he could even pick up groceries on the way home. Also he had to get to Niall’s place. Apparently, they had to talk, whatever that means.

Letting just enough space between the office-goers and him, Louis wandered aimlessly through London until something caught his gaze. Normally, people looked at interesting things then looked right over it. But Louis was not one of those people. Everything was seen and nothing left his sight or mind. Especially the catchy things. Some would say he had a sharp mind or eidetic memory, but he knew it was the interest which kept the picture fresh in his head.

That was the only reason why Louis found himself crossing the street, walking towards the neon pink sign on the middle of the pavement on the bridge. Louis, like always, had forgotten his glasses and he was way too lazy to put on contacts, so he couldn’t make the words out from so far away. But the nearer he drew, the clearer the words became.

‘ _Etch-a-sketch_ ’ it said in bold neon yellow on the pink background. It was ridiculously written with doodles in the corner of the sign, drawing an amused chuckle in the back of his mind. There were a few more words scrawled below it and as Louis squinted and drew closer to read it, there was a voice near him which startled him off his feet.

“It says _‘I’ll draw you like one of those French girls’_.”

Louis jumped slightly, bumping into one of the pedestrians walking behind him then promptly lost his balance and was knocked to the floor. It was like a chain reaction, drawing irritated mutterings from the passers-by and a few curses from Louis. And then he prided himself over his gait. Oh how the mighty have fallen. Literally.

“Oops! Didn’t mean to startle you like that,” said the same deep voice, filled with guilt and shame and something that sounded like pity. Louis Tomlinson did not want someone’s pity. He was perfectly happy sprawled on the street like that, thank you very much. The dirt and the germs on his clothes don’t bother him. They are just the marks of struggle, he told himself rather dramatically in his head. Louis looked above him to say the same when he was met with green, green eyes staring down at him.

See, Louis was a man of many words; he read the dictionary at times for the fun of it. But right now, he didn’t have enough words to describe the very colour of those eyes in front of him. He couldn’t find any colour to picture them in. He didn’t know how to describe them except to say that they seemed ethereal and mesmerising. They looked like they had been made from the very colour of fresh leaves and forest green along with the sea green of the waves crashing down on the sand. Louis nearly forgot where he was and the glares he got from those around him. And definitely forgot what he was going to say.

“Hi,” he said, a little out of breath. “It’s my fault anyway. I guess I prided my balance a little more than I thought.”

Louis cringed at how he sounded and was definitely surprised when it earned him a bark of laughter from the other man. There was childish mirth visible on his face, eyes gleaming merrily as his smile drew crinkles by his eyes. The back of his hand was covering his lips but the merry just couldn’t be hidden it seemed. He seemed larger than life, shining bright in the shadows of the sun. His artistic mind supplied him quotes which got lost somewhere down his tongue. This man captivated him and Louis was curious and endeared all at once. It was rare that he saw such pure exuberance.

“Are you going be laying there on the dusty streets or do you need a hand getting up?” the man asked, lips fighting to raise higher into a smile if possible. Maybe he was one of those strange happy people, the people that Louis never seemed to get. The ones that were happy from the inside and shone from the outside. The really rare one. Maybe.

As he opened his mouth in response, he was jolted by the person walking beside him. They shot him a glare, definitely muttering curses as if they were the one who were hit by a shoe. People needed to cheer up. He nearly snorted at how hypocritical he was being because he was _that_ moody, irritable kind of person. “I think the street is a good place to lie on. Whoever lies on the sidewalk nowadays? They need to be appreciated by us. And it makes me feel down to earth by being one of the people doing so.”

The man laughed again, shaking his head slightly. It meant he was either amused by him or thought he was stupid. He hoped it was the former. Sarcasm is amusing, right? Louis scanned his features for the lack of anywhere else to look. It was only then that Louis noticed the weird black hat on his head, long brown curls springing from beneath it. Upon careful observation and racking his brain in that half a minute, he managed to remember what that hat was called. Beret. The type of hat you’d expect on a French artist. With the artist thing down with the beret and ‘draw me like one of your French girls’ reference, Louis just wanted to groan for eternity. Instead, he shook his head a little to clear his thought and stared again at the man who had stopped laughing but extended one hand forward.

“I hope you aren’t planning on being down there for a while?” he asked, a playful smirk on his lips and eyes sparkling merrily. They looked like spring, if Louis was being honest. Like the bird chirping, flowers blooming, greenery and happiness all around kind of spring feeling. But then he was sure he was exaggerating. His mind always loved the hyperbole. It always went into hyperbole at random occurrences.

“I was indeed but since you insist.” Louis shrugged, feigning great trouble and clutching on to the hand, which was huge as compared to his by the way, and let himself being lifted up. If Louis was expecting to crash movie-esque into the man’s chest then looking up shyly into his eyes then he was mistaken because none of that happened. What did happen was that Louis found himself back on his two feet, then being knocked into by a stranger and stumbling right onto the man’s chest before stepping back with flushed cheeks. Wow, so much for it not going according to some rom-com/chick flick/young adult book/what-the-hell-ever. So much for deciding to enjoy the fresh crowds actually.

That was also the time that Louis found the ground he was lying on minutes ago vaguely interesting and wasn’t much surprised to find that the man was wearing golden boots. That kind of weirdness just went hand in glove with this man... who Louis practically knew nothing about. Great.

“Umm,” the man drawled which made Louis snap his eyes back up to meet the man’s face. If he thought about it, the youthful cheeks and wide eyes made him look like a cheery boy. Like he might be very young. But he himself, had been mistaken plenty of times for a teen when his hair was down in fringe, that he was no longer in a position to judge. “You want me to sketch you? It’s very life-like, I promise.”

Louis blinked a few times, maybe a little too cartoonish. He gave the man a once over, subtly. And by that, he really did mean subtle. The man was taller than him, broad shouldered with a halo of curly hair which escaped his hat. His skin was creamy with a pinkish glow to it, especially on the cheek. His eyes were earnest as they stared down at him, like they were expecting something...

Which, of course, he was waiting for Louis’s answer. Stupid him, staring at him with those agog eyes and what not. He really needed to stop observing art like that. Or in this case, the artist. Who was art himself. Making Louis lost in his own head again, damn it.

“Sketch?” Louis found himself asking. His tone was sceptical though, making the earnest look on the man fall. Louis felt a sudden surge of guilt. He was going to do something impromptu now. “Sure why not.”

The Beret Boy’s smile widen, casting shadows on his cheek. Wait, they weren’t shadows, Louis concluded on second examination. This French wannabe really had dimples of all things. Carved deep into his cheeks, giving him a boyish edge and a glow to his smile. Wow, never had Louis been so enamoured with something that wasn’t an object, painting, or nature. This was a rare occurrence. And if Niall saw him now, he would guffaw. Because when Niall laughed, it meant he was deeply moved by emotion, whether it be amusement or wonder. Yeah, he didn’t get it either.

“That’s great,” the man cheered, clapping his hands together. “If you’d just sit there then...”

The man pointed to a stool in front of a canvas, right across the sign which had caught Louis’s attention, subsequently made him fall and be in this situation right now. Maybe that's why it was here for. Drawing in strangers with their curious eyes and charming them. Or make them fall. Or it could be just Louis to whom it happened. Yeah.

He obeyed anyway, climbing up on the stool. The stool was a little high though making Louis’s legs dangle in the air, not quite reaching the ground. Normally, he’d be annoyed but after seeing the man’s amused expression, he was a little amused himself.

Louis was certain that he had a point to add somewhere but as he looked at those earnest eyes, he forgot whatever it was. To be sketched it was then. Hurrah.

Louis had been in front of a canvas, sure, but he hadn’t ever been behind one. So he was nervous and didn’t quite know how to react. He couldn’t be too fidgety or it might annoy the man and if he sat too still, his portrait may come out bad. And his mind was plagued by worries about his posture, his pose, the lighting, everything. So he did the only thing he could think of. Talk.

“You have this,” Louis started to say, wrangling his hands around before realising he was being sketched. Right. As he looked at the guy though, he didn’t seem to mind it, what with the way he was staring at him. And his eyes spoke volumes, only if Louis was able to read the language in the depths of them. Oh shit, no poetics. “You have this whole French vibe going there.”

The man chuckled deeply, ducking his head slightly but Louis could see the dimple sprouting on his left cheek. “Not really.” He gave a half shrug, focusing only on the canvas. Okay, Louis didn’t like being left unanswered. So he said something stupid.

“The beret and the fancy coat thing.” On second thoughts, the coat might not be all that French but. “I won’t be surprised if you are French.”

Seriously, what was Louis even thinking saying that line! Obviously he isn’t French. He doesn’t have that accent from when he spoke! Honestly, he was an idiot. But just when he was repenting his mistake, he heard the unmistakable sounds of giggles. He was surprised to see it was from the man (boy!) (Maybe not so surprised really) and he was covering his mouth with one hand, giggling softly as he stared at the ground. Louis had a very endearing sight in front of him. The man, not yet grown, from whom the beauty shone... fucking stupid lines. What was he thinking?

“Trust me, mate,” the man started, and Louis had to pull his head out from his embarrassed thoughts to concentrate on the words. “I just know one sentence in French which quite frankly, I’m embarrassed to say.”

“Come on,” Louis coaxed. “You can tell me. I won’t laugh.”

And his voice was flirtatious, that's for sure. He knew how his ‘unintentional flirtatious voice’ sounded like. The man was ducking his head, blush blooming high on his cheeks as he revealed. “ _Je suis allé au cinéma avec mes copains et ma famille_.”

And Louis didn’t mean to laugh at him, but he did anyway. Small, soft laughter elicited from him as he pursed his lips to hold them in but to no avail. The man looked up from under his lashes to gaze at Louis, eyes wide with embarrassment. Louis wasn’t laughing at him he hurried to explain. “I just... why are you so embarrassed to say that? Is that so bad?”

“No,” he whined. He jutted out his bottom lip subconsciously, looking every bit of a cute puppy. Louis loved puppies. “It’s because I use that a lot. And only that. That's why I’m embarrassed. The meaning is clean though, don’t worry.”

“Is it?” Louis teased. “I thought it was something dirty, _mignonne_.”

“You speak French,” he exclaimed, surprised.

Louis felt a little glee in nodding. “A little. Picked a few words when I was in France.” Which a few blokes used, but failed to impress. That part he didn’t add.

“Nice.” And that was the end of it. There was a silence between them. Well as silent as it can be on a busy street with vehicles and passerby. But let’s say it was silence between them, okay. Louis took the time to observe the man – the rosiness of his cheeks and how soft his curls looked as they brushed his face. The dibs of his face, the visible freckles on his cheeks. How his eyelashes swept his cheeks with every twitch and how he scrunched his nose at irregular intervals. Lastly how unnaturally pink his lips were, as he pulled the bottom one between his teeth and furrowed his brows as he sketched on, unaware of Louis’s gaze. The man was art, ready to be taken down on paper. And Louis did his best to study it. Yet Louis’s mind couldn’t help but supply how the _‘beret wearing wannabe pretentious French artist with referenced to titanic’s iconic line ‘draw me like one of your French girls’_ man would be when he would know that he, a man with a French name would very well want to French-kiss him. He really wished he had some French fries to throw in here, just to increase the French-y-ness.

Louis was startled by his own train of thoughts, how they had jumped so fast to a place that took him so long to reach. Usually, it took Louis much longer than weeks to get to like someone, much rather wanting to kiss them. He wasn’t the most romantic of people, yet the thoughts of wanting to take the yet-nameless-guy out swarmed his brain. Everything was moving too fast making him lurch in shock. His head was swimming slightly with overwhelming thoughts and emotions but he tried his best to ignore it. It was a struggle really.

Maybe that's why he didn’t notice when the man squealed slightly and looked at Louis with a triumphant smile on his lips exclaiming he was done. It was loud enough to drag Louis out of his thoughts and send some passerby into jolting back. It would be funny if Louis saw that, but he didn’t. He gazed wide-eyed and dazed at the beautiful man in front of him.

“Done so soon?” Louis questioned, tilting his head to a side. The man nodded enthusiastically, hair flying all over his face. Overexcited puppy, he noted and smiled to himself.

“Do you wanna see it?”  The man’s eyes had gone wider than their normal wide-eyed state, twinkling with anticipation and exhilaration as they stared down at Louis, unknowingly capturing him in their depth. Louis blinked and hurriedly pulled himself together, just in time to answer.

“I’m sure that it will be the best, mate,” he assured, winking. The wink, or his statement, seemed to have the opposite effect on the man. His face went from giddy happy to disappointed in a flash which left Louis wondering what he did wrong. Just as he was about to apologise for the wink, the man spoke up.

“So you don’t want to see it?” he asked, lips turning down in a pout. And honestly, he looked like a downtrodden puppy, just a cuter version of it. And how? Seriously.

Maybe he was one of those artists who wanted to see the muse’s face light up in awe and wonder, as they saw themselves on canvas for the first time. How their compliments and facial expressions were genuinely conveyed and not fabricated to impress and deceive. He truly empathised. And that was the only reason why Louis found himself trotting over to where the man was and peeking to see his portrait.

And boy, was Louis surprised and delighted.

On the canvas was Louis, looking slightly dazed as he stared into space in thoughts. Instead of just his face and part of the torso was the whole of him, down to his legs dangling off the stool. And it just captured the slight panic and dazzled expression he had on. The most beautiful thing? It was how the whole picture was in black and white but his eyes were shining blue. From where the man had conjured up the blue, Louis knew not, but the whole sketch was a masterpiece he dare say. And that was something because he was the harshest critic ever.

“That’s just beautiful!” Louis blurted, at an apparent lack of words for the second time in the day. It was a feat how a single person could make him drained of his vocabulary when countless others barely could. There just weren’t enough words to describe what he saw right now in front of his eyes. And ‘beautiful’ just didn’t cover it. Where were the scouts? Because talent was right here at its best.

Wasn’t Niall just saying a few weeks back about how he needed to find another rising artist? Because he just might have found one right here. Wow, talk about luck. Both talent and fascination had found Louis right here when he tripped on the streets. Genius.

“Really?” the man asked voice giggly and curious and eyes filled with insecurity and wonder. Did no one ever tell him how a brilliant piece of art he was and how brilliant of a piece he could create? This boy (man) should be flaunting it for all its worth, not be insecure.

“Yeah, really,” he assured, nodding furiously and looking the man straight in the eyes. Which proved to be slightly difficult, as Louis had to crane his neck upwards if he didn’t want to talk face to shoulder. Basically the only thing he hated about himself was his height, or lack thereof. “You’re really great, Beret boy.”

Both of them giggled slightly before Louis remembered that there had to be a payment for it. He wasn’t going to deprived the guy from the payment because he earned it with the result. “So much do I pay?”

“You don’t have to. It’s free for you.”

“But...” Louis went to protest but the man spoke over him.

“I practically forced you... to be sketched? So this is for free... no, I’m not going to listen.”

He took some kind of wrapping paper and wrapped around the painting (sketch?) (He was a little sketchy on this) (Ha). Louis watched him though, not saying another word as he was practically thrust with the painting. Just as he was about to add more, a shrill sound broke through, scattering Louis’s thoughts.  He raised one finger and excused himself, not noticing how the man’s face fell.

“You were supposed to be here over an hour ago,” was all he heard from the other end.

 “Hello to you too, Niall,” Louis greeted, smile playing on his lips. “My day had a bad start but everything is fine now. Thanks for asking.”

“Shut it, Tomlinson,” Niall chided. But everyone and their mother knew that he couldn’t be serious and that he didn’t mind the lateness in the slightest. “I hope you fell flat on your precious arse.”

“I did too,” Louis exclaimed rather loudly, earning a dirty look from someone. He gave a look right back as he walked a few steps ahead, sketch clutched in his side. “How’d you know?”

“I’m a psychic you know.” He laughed, most likely shaking his head too.

“That you are,” Louis agreed. “So did you know I found a talented artist too then?”

“Really?” Niall exclaimed rather loudly, making Louis’s ears hurt. “I hope you’re not kidding me because...”

“No actually.” Louis giggled at the memory of the man. “He drew this picture of me and... oh shit.”

“What?”

 _Oh shit_ would be a minor exclamation. It wouldn’t even cover how much he thought he had messed up. What he wanted was to let out a string of curses but he was in the streets after all but a child could very well hear it so ‘shit’ had to do.

In his haste to tell Niall about the man, who Louis still didn’t have the name of by the way (damn), Louis had walked far enough that he didn’t want to go back. The man probably thought Louis was being ungrateful after just walking off like that. Damn his abilities to be lost in himself. He knew it would come to bite him in the arse one day. Everyone did really. Now shouldn’t have been the moment.

“I forgot to take his number.” A groan was heard on the other end. He wanted to groan too, but only because he lost his chance to get to know the man. “Don’t worry, I think I’ll find him again right there.”

“You better hope, Tomlinson.”

Also Niall might just have gotten his best piece to be put up. Louis knew what he’s gonna do.

-

When Louis got home that night, his mind was filled with all the worries placed by Niall in his head. About how the deadline was near and his project wasn’t done. Louis had lied, telling him that it was nearly finished. But then he was fibbing, which anyone could tell when they would look at the canvas remaining blank on the easel. There wasn’t a single drop of paint on it, or around it. Whenever he picked up the brush, his mind would be wiped blank and there was no colour, no picture, and no ideas. Louis had sat in front of it for a day without an inspiration and had capped the bottles and called it a day. Called everything a failure. Sigh.

One thing which Louis always did was give up. Whether it was on completing a painting or finishing his education. No wonder he quit Uni in the last year, just before the examinations. He was lucky his talent wasn’t dead, which is how he got the job. He was lucky he got this job or else he’d be out, living on the streets.

But right now it seemed like his talent was dead too. He was useless, he concluded as he changed his clothes. He would soon be jobless, he told himself as he got into bed. And there was no place for any thoughts of green-eyed painter. Except for in his dreams, of course. He kept appearing in his dreams, which were lost when Louis woke up.

The next day felt awfully like a déjà vu to Louis when he found himself wandering down the streets. Then he remembered exactly why...

The green-eyed man!

And how did his thoughts even leave his mind, Louis wondered, as they came back in full force. He found himself taking the same path until he found himself to the end of the street. And that was surprising. When he walked back, the place where the painter (sketcher? Maybe he should stick with artist) was the previous day seemed vacant. No, it was vacant. The wannabe French artist was not there!

Louis felt his heart sink, disappointment running in every vein. He had been looking forward to seeing him, to smile with him. And now, he couldn’t muster enough strength to convince himself that he hadn’t made a mistake in taking Niall’s call.

Niall! He could maybe help him now! He was his friend first anyway.

Louis dialled him but after a few rings, the call went straight to voicemail. He sighed resignedly. Maybe the man was busy with stuff today. That's why he wasn’t there. Maybe he’d be here tomorrow?

Yeah tomorrow Louis would find him surely.

-

It just wasn’t Louis’s lucky day again. Even after the third consecutive day, the curly haired artist seemed to be missing. Which led Louis to wonder if he was real after all. With the way his hair was floating in the wind and with the way his eyes shone bright, he might as well be a figure right out of his imagination. And how else could Louis describe the weird sense of attachment he felt towards him. Surely he wasn’t real. Louis won’t be surprised if that were the case.

But he had the living proof of his existence in the form of the painting which hung in the bedroom. Which he looked at every night before he went to bed and remembered the beautiful artist and his skilled hands.

He sure was disappointed though when he wasn’t met with the sight of the artist. He had never felt so eager to meet someone and never let down by someone’s absence. Not so quickly at least. He wanted to know how he had skipped a few stages to reach where he was now. Like how.

It was like clockwork how Louis worked. Only a handful number of times Louis had felt something akin to attraction towards a person and it was never this quick. It always went in stages – getting to know each other, friendship, like, and then rarely love.

Wait, love had actually never happened for him.

So it was intriguing for him how he had skipped the first two stages and went straight to the third. It was almost like they had known each other from a long time and it evolved into mutual attraction. Which, well, intriguing.

Louis didn’t really know what to do. How to console himself. Didn’t know what to tell himself. He needed help. So he hoped Niall would be available this time. And luckily, he was.

“Help me Niall!” Louis started before heaving a long dramatic sigh. He was sad and in the mood for drama. Sue him.

“Woah, Lou, calm down. Right from the start, tell me.”

And so he did. Louis told him everything – the green-eyed artist, the beautiful painting, and the realisation that _maybe_ he was more attracted to him than anyone in his life. He told him right up until the part where he thought that the man most probably might not even be real, which Niall scoffed at. “I doubt that's the case, Louis. I’m sure he is real. And you can’t expect everything to go according to rules. Like I always tell you, they’re stupid. You gotta let things happen like they happen.”

“Great words from the ever single Niall Horan,” Louis teased. He really didn’t deal with emotional situations without sarcasm. Sarcasm was the best remedy to avoid heavy situation. It made it light, manageable. Emotions were complex and Louis didn’t like them. Or dealing with them unnecessarily, for that matter.

Niall chose to ignore that. Louis cursed the fact that Niall knew how not to take the bait and launch into something else. “What I’m saying is, if you two are meant to be, you’ll meet again. Fate and all. Until that time, do what you artist folks do – pour your heart into your art. Isn’t that what gives the best results?”

Yes! Louis was an artist. Surely he could channel his grief into his work. That's the sign of a great artist or whatever. Thank god for Niall. His mind might always be work-focused but he gave great advices.

He should revive the old plan!

“Thanks Ni,” he said. “Talk to you later.”

If he couldn’t take the artist out of his mind, he might as well take it out on paper. That might help.

-

That does not help. Again.

Louis had made it up in his head how he would sit in front of the canvas and ideas would keep popping in and colouring his thoughts which would lead to him taking out those colours on the said canvas.

In all of an hour that he had been home, his mind had being void of ideas and colours, seeming like a blank canvas. Which incidentally was also in front of him. And if both of these remained in the same state for any more time, he’d be driven crazy.

It was like after he had met the curly haired painter, all his mind could think of was him. Not only of him, but of how he could recreate the exact shade of green on paper. It wouldn’t be some shade he bought in a shop. It would have to been created. And that was something he could start on – recreating the green of his eyes.

That would take a lot of time.

Louis would have to find the colour of the forest, then of the sea and of the freshly dewed grass and mixing them just right before adding fleck of gold. Yet that still wouldn’t suffice. In his mind, the colour seemed to be more flourished than it might have been. His artistic eye had added more splendour to it than usual. That's why it was so hard to do it any justice. But the man’s face was branded behind his eyelids, he was sure he could paint it from his memory.

That is, after he would have managed to get the perfect green. He could recreate the pink and creamy texture of his skin, then the brown of his hair... and all of a sudden, Louis had found the idea in his muse. He had a genuinely wonderful idea. The best idea he might have ever had actually.

-

Harry fell face first on the bed, heaving a dreamy sigh which got lost somewhere between the mattress and the sheets. It wouldn’t be the first time that week that it had happened and it won’t be the last, he thought miserably. The messy-brown-haired-blue-eyed-sassy-wonder wouldn’t be leaving his mind anytime soon. And acting like a fool by not visiting that spot and abandoning his part time earnings wasn’t going to be the solution. That was what the rational part of him told him. The other part wanted to avoid the inevitable as long as he could, until he’d fall short on the rent and would have to do something else for money.

That part was stupid, but Harry would rather agree with it than the reality.

For Liam, the answer to why he wasn’t going would be that he was exhausted from all his art school classes and projects. But the real reason he was not going would be that he didn’t want his hopes to be crushed when he would wait for that man to visit, only for him to not come back. He was a believer of fate, sure. But then that was a once in a lifetime opportunity to find that man and he had let him go without a name and number. He was foolish.

Utterly foolish.

“What is wrong with you Harry?” Liam demanded, plopping down at the edge of the bed and half on Harry’s foot. Harry didn’t hear him entering, or he’d have repositioned himself. And made it not look like he was moping. But he was and he was pretty sure that his childhood-friend-who-knew-him-all-too-well knew. But what Liam knew was the current situation because if he didn’t know what Harry thought he knew then he might accidentally reveal the reason and he would actually know. The whole sentence made him confused and making him question his sanity all at once. Did it even make sense?

Probably not.

Liam prodded his leg, demanding attention. Harry turned, giving him it. “What?”

“Really Harry.” Liam cocked his overly bushy eyebrow, sassily. “That’s something you should answer. You’ve been behaving like this all week. What happened to the cheery boy who loved sketching others and making them smile as wide he did all day? What happened to him Harry?”

Harry rolled his eyes, muttering “drama queen” which wasn’t so quiet. So what if Harry had said that very sentence. It didn’t mean Liam should use it on him. Not now.

“Mope-y princess,” Liam shot right back. The look on his face was smug, like he had won a trophy instead of a giving a cheeky retort. Honestly, he needed to tone down that excitement, Harry thought. Usually, he’d thrive on it but right now when he was a little glum, he didn’t appreciate it. Yeah, he was really mope-y too.

When Harry didn’t reply, Liam furrowed his brows and went to run his fingers through Harry’s hair. Harry hummed contently but the thought of those blue eyes which sparkled in his thoughts didn’t dim even a little. “Now are you going to tell me what happened?”

“I met the most beautiful man,” Harry whined, lifting his head a little so his words wouldn’t get lost. As he muttered those words, the said man’s face came into his vision. Of how his sharp cheekbones stood out and how his long eyelashes brushed against those very cheekbones as he looked down and how warm his hand felt for that one minute which he held it.

“And?” Liam prodded, interrupting his stream of thoughts. He then realised that he had spent a minute of silence lost in thoughts. Harry didn’t know whether to be bothered or relieved for being disturbed. Maybe a little of both.

“And I drew him.”

“And?”

Liam still didn’t get it and Harry wondered how. “And I can’t get him out of my head!” he half yelled, startling Liam who scrambled back, off balance.

“Again?”

“For real this time, Liam. I think I like him.” and so he retold the incident.

Harry had a tendency to get infatuated with every beautiful thing he saw. That’s why on his free days, he spent it with a camera dangling down his neck, and being the amateur photographer he was. And that man had every bit of beauty radiating out of him. He was alluring, pleasure to the eyes as well as to the ears, with his high tilted voice and accent. He was funny too, from what few sentences they had exchanged. And by the time he gathered enough courage to ask for his number, he had been dragged away by a call, never to return.

Part of Harry knew that this was a usual occurrence, where he became infatuated with someone and then the attraction faded. But after a week of no contact, it hadn’t dimmed in slightest. In fact, it had grown. It meant that there was something about the nameless man that lingered in his thoughts. It might not wade away so soon. If fate had it, they’d meet again and fall in love and drive into the sunset.

“But you don’t even know him, Harry!” Liam reprimanded, looking every bit of the stern parent he was and dragging him back to reality. His warm brown eyes had taken something of an apprehension to them. He won’t give in so soon this time. Maybe. “And you’ve only met him once. And you don’t even know if he’s interested in men! Not everything has a fairytale ending where you fall in love and drive into the sunset. Yes, I know it because you say it every time.”

Harry flipped on his back, pulling a pout at Liam, which made his face soften a little. Harry knew it was illogical to expect that everything would end happily but who will tell that to his romantic heart? Besides, he really felt something there, even if it was a just small time span. He just knew he was the one.

But then he had said it often so Harry wasn’t sure whether to trust his heart on that. “But I was so sure he was my one true love.”

Liam smiled. “He might be, Harry. Who knows? If he meets you again, then don’t let him go okay?”

Harry gave him a small smile. “Thanks, Li.”

Hope rose in his chest again like a breath of fresh air, giving him newfound joy. Maybe he’d see the man again. No, he definitely would. And then he’d tell him he missed him and the man will say he missed him as well. Then they’d proclaim their love for each other and be happily ever after. Eh. Maybe too forward. But anyway.

Only for that he’d have to go back to sketching again. Yeah, that was for tomorrow. Today, he had to rest.

-

One week later Harry found himself in the same position – face first on the bed and pining after the man who never came back. He hadn’t let the fire of hope die in his chest but as the week came to a standstill, so did his desire to live. Okay that might be an exaggeration. But still, he was deeply grieving that he had let his chance to find the _‘perfect guy’_ go. He might have lost the chance to find his soul mate. Forever. That really sucked.

“That sucks, H,” Liam said, as if reading Harry’s mind. He had been combing his fingers through Harry’s hair, which wasn’t soothing the pain in his chest. His heart ached for the light feeling and butterflies while his eyes longed for a sight of the man. When Harry was sad, he really exaggerated and deeply exaggerated every single emotion. That's why he said that his heart might have as well sunk along with the Titanic, because his Leo-lookalike won’t be coming back from it.

“Shut up Harry,” Liam scolded. His eyes glinted with concern and worry and his face contorted into a _mother hen_ expression. God did he hate that expression. “I know you’re sad, but I still can’t take your shit.”

“You’re a bad, bad friend Liam Payne,” was Harry’s only reply before he made a sound deep in his throat which was supposed to be ‘despair and hurt’.

“You can’t give up hope, Harry.” Liam furrowed his eyebrows in concern as he looked down at him, eyes glinting kindly. Harry was about to start on how easy it was for him to say that as if he didn’t hear the sound of his heart breaking when Liam started to talk again. “You’re the one who talks about fate and its strange ways right? You’ll meet your ‘one true love’ again.” He did the air quotation along with it.

Harry sighed. Liam was right. Fate did have a strange way. “It’s not like you’ll lose someone at the concert only to find them at the bathroom of a talent show. It doesn’t happen that way. Once you lose your chance, you lose it. I think I lost mine.”

Liam smacked him on his head. Yeah Harry was being dramatic on purpose. But he couldn’t help it. He needed some time maybe, and that's what he told Liam too.

“I’ll be fine,” he whispered, more to reassure himself than Liam. Liam knew it too.

-

Another week went by and there was no sign of the blue-eyed-wonder and Harry wasn’t taking it all that well. His usually chipper attitude towards life had turned to frowns and whines. He might as well carry a cloud of despair round his head. If he were in a cartoon, he might have had it. It was getting pathetic. And Liam decided that was it. He had to think of a plan.

A good plan.

“Harry!” he called out, as he sat on the sofa and heard the door open. Harry gave him a puppy eyed look. “Come here.”

“What happened, Liam?” He dropped down beside his friend, sighing. The sighs had made a regular appearance these days. He had thought that meeting someone once can’t elicit such strong feelings but boy was he wrong. That man was all he could think about. And not even the nude models he had to sketch could compete with him. It was becoming a little pathetic.

“Make that hell lot of pathetic,” Liam corrected. Had Harry said that out loud? “Harry, you have to cheer up. I’m sure your gloominess had made all the plants you walk past shrivel up and die.”

“That cannot happen,” Harry muttered, sighing again. It was _his_ habit of exaggerating that Liam had stolen. Maybe he should steal it back from Liam. He could say as much but he wasn’t in the mood for it. He missed him so much. “I miss him so much!”

Harry really did miss him, and those azure blue eyes and that radiant smile and that melodious voice and those sarcastic words and... Just about everything really. He missed missing out on asking for his number too. That might just be his biggest regret. Right above the time he had decided that he would straighten out his hair. The results were not good. He was meant to have curly hair. Or at least wavy.

Liam patted his leg. “I have a plan to cheer you up!”

His cheery voice was making his ears hurt. Harry finally understood why his sister used to hit him when he was so cheerful in the mornings. He really did now. Next time he should probably apologise to Gemma. Probably. Or not.

Harry just shot Liam the most indifferent expression he could muster, letting Liam know that he was welcome to suggest but he sure as hell wasn’t taking up on it.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he exclaimed. “I swear this will cheer you up!”

“I don’t think so but suuuuuuuure,” Harry said, making sure to give him the most sugary sweet smile as he raised his eyebrows sarcastically and stretching the last word for a good minute. Liam wasn’t impressed.

But he shrugged it off anyway. “Your favourite artist is having an exhibition!”

He had expected some lame idea about theme parks or whatever but boy was he surprised. The idea really made excitement bubble through Harry’s cold dead heart (he should really stop the exaggeration). For the first time in two weeks, (after that day with that man) he smiled really wide again. Who knew Liam’s plans worked? They always came with a label citing it will fail, usually. Liam was improving then. Progress. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Liam agreed. His smile turned a smidge smug when he saw his prophecy come true. Yeah, Harry didn’t like him anymore. “It’s with some other artists of course but he’s having like three paintings there. Tommo something...”

Harry sat up straight, eyes glinting and an exuberant smile all over his face and eyes wide with exuberance. “You mean ‘the greatest artist in all of Britain who is oh so elusive’?”

He had a bit of a reputation for not being seen often. Mostly no one knew how he looked like. Which was a shame, since if his paintings were to go by, then he would only be the most beautiful person in the world. If he was a ‘he’ that is. Harry was a little biased. But he knew that ‘the Tommo’ was the most talented person in the world. See, only a little biased.

“Says you, Harry.” Liam snorted. He never agreed with Harry on the ‘most talented’ part. But he wasn’t an art critic either so that didn’t make much of a difference. What did he know about art? “And yes, him.”

“Says the entire Britain Liam, let me tell you!” Harry huffed. A slight exaggeration he did. Merely a slight. “He’s just so famed right now that ... well, he’s my inspiration too. I can only wish I could blend those colours that way.”

“ _‘Just so famed?’_ ” Liam asked, raising a sceptic brow. “Don’t tell me you lost your language too, Styles.”

“As if you know anything about language, Mr. Spells-every-other-word-wrong.” Yeah he was being petulant. But he was just so happy. Not even Liam could dampen his mood. He had something to look forward to... “When is that exhibition, Li?”

“This Saturday.”

He had something to look forward to this Saturday then. Yay!

-

Saturday came by faster than he had expected and Harry was bouncing on his toes. Nothing made him happier than art. Or his favourite artist. Or that blue eyed man who was definitely a masterpiece.

Even after all these days, the need to meet the man hadn’t waned which took Harry by surprise. His obsession had lasted longer than a week which was a feat in itself. Liam thought so too, even if was reluctant to admit it. But right now, all that was pushed in the back of Harry’s head as he stepped into the art gallery.

There was a light buzz of talk, hushed whispers of art lovers as they walked around gazing and studying the paintings. Harry also did just that – take in the essence of the pieces, interpret them as his own, and committed them to memory. He had enough money so he could even buy one of them. Could he? Maybe.

“I don’t get all the buzz around this,” Liam mused, a little loud which made the other patrons turn their head to scowl at him. Liam being the ignorant person he was, was ignorant of this fact. Lucky him, he’d say. “Like it’s alright, I suppose.”

“Liam,” Harry whispered, eyes narrowed at his obtuse friend. Honestly, why did Liam even come if he had no interest whatsoever? Oh, because he was being a good friend. Harry should cut him some slack. “Either you appreciate or you shut up. There’s no in between.”

“But this doesn’t even make sense,” Liam argued, voice still loud and gaining the wrong attention. Was there an empty wall for Harry to bang his head on? He’d want that wall soon if his friend didn’t _shut up_.

“Liam...”

“And this...woah what?”

“Didn’t you hear me Lima?” Harry cut in, voice stern. “Shut up.”

“No you shut up and look!” Liam exclaimed, eyes bright and surprised. He was being unnecessary loud and sparing him from his wrath seemed more and more distant. Harry was about to argue when Liam turned him around, and that shut him right up. Wow? “Is it just me or that person looks like you?”

Harry squinted his eyes, blinking plenty to make sure it wasn’t just a hallucination. But no, it was really there.

And it wasn’t just Liam.

With wide eyes and mouth gaping, Harry walked closer to the painting. It looked like different colours – red and green mostly – mixed together with the background of a person who looked unmistakably like him.

Well not that obvious. But anyone who looked closely could tell.

It could’ve been a crazy stalker or a random artist but damn was he talented. The bush strokes, the colour blending, the accuracy all so... Well it might be a little conceited to think that the guy was him. It could be a lookalike or a completely different person that the artist had messed up. But with that talent, it was doubtful. It could be a lookalike though. He had read somewhere that there are seven people in this world who may look just like you. He didn’t believe it but it seemed like a more plausible explanation anyway. It...

“That’s not for sale,” stated a familiar voice, cutting right through Harry’s thoughts and startling him. He was thrust into reality, struck with a possibly that maybe just maybe... no that might be a little too far a shot. See he might be wrong (he was sure he wasn’t but he didn’t want to seem cocky) but the speaker had the same rough-smooth texture and comfort to it as the voice haunting his dreams since _that day_. And it was clearer, nearer, which meant the speaker was also near to Harry and not just in his head.

He took a step back, eyes set on the painting before taking a deep breath and turning...

Remember how Harry had assumed that the speaker was close to him? Well turns out he was really close. Like two steps behind Harry. And when he turned, he so happened to be startled to find teal blue eyes so close to him and he jumped. When he jumped, he lost his balance (typical Harry) and grabbed on to the first thing near him – the man’s shoulder, it turned out to be.

Fortunately, they were strong enough to steady him and help Harry regain his balance. Unfortunately, the other man was just as surprised as Harry and Harry’s hands really threw him off balance, making him slip and fall. He sprawled across the sparkling floor, leaning up on his elbow like a model in the middle of a photo shoot. His head was cocked to one side as he gazed at Harry through his long eyelashes, lips slightly parted, looking torn between amusement and surprise.

Harry felt a sense of déjà vu creep through him.

Harry stared down at the man, eyes wide and gaping, not knowing what to say. He could either admire the beautiful creature all day or help him up. Or he could say something really witty like last time. Except that his tongue was waggling slightly and currently rendered useless by the man’s utter glory. If possible, he was even prettier face to face than his imagination and memory.

And the light was doing wonders in highlighting his features and making his tan skin beam golden. He was wearing a light blue shirt with slacks, looking professional and savvy. And angelic. Did Harry mention he looked like a model in the middle of a photoshoot?

Liam cleared his throat behind him, bringing him back to his senses. Darn Liam for breaking his daydream. And maybe even thank Liam for breaking his daydream gosh.

Harry realised again that either he should speak up or offer a hand. Speaking would mean he would probably make a fool of himself. He could say something witty or sarcastic like last time because the guy had sure liked that. But before he could do anything else, the bloke on the floor decided to do something else.

He laughed, all honey sweet and sugary. If the feathery haired masterpiece would be a dessert, he’d be a real treat. And uh _what_?

“I should stop falling for you every time we meet,” he rasped, chuckling again as a blush spread over his cheek. Whether it was from laughing or his words, Harry didn’t know. He hoped it was the second but either way it was just endearing.

This was the moment, Harry thought. This was the moment where everything falls into place and the man falls into Harry’s arms and they ride into the sunset. This is his happy ending. It’s meant to be. After all it’s no chance that fate decided that Harry runs into this guy for the second time. This time, a little literally.

The sunset, Harry mused.

Liam seemed to be right in sync with his thoughts though and that's how Harry earned an elbow to his ribs. And it hurt. They were in the presence of a beauty and a person he wanted to impress, so Harry pretended to be strong and didn’t even wince or react. Liam should be thankful they weren’t in the sanctity of their home. Or else Harry would have challenged him to a tickle fight (and he would’ve lost anyway but still).

“That’s so cheesy, Lou,” came a cackle like voice from behind the feathery haired pixie, followed by a cackle of laughter. “You can do better.”

“Shut up Niall,” Louis snapped, not even turning his head. “I’m not the one who picks up girls at the bars every other week. So _excuse me_ if I’m not skilled at –” He cut himself off and Harry realised that the word he didn’t say was flirting. Oh gosh. “ _This,_ all right.”

“Whatever you say,” said the same person and this time Harry raised his eyes to check who it was. A bleach-blond haired, grinning bloke stood there, deep in his own head filled with jokes. His eyes were blue as well, but not as bright as Louis’s. Actually no one’s eyes could be brighter or prettier than Louis’s and Harry wouldn’t accept any argument about that.

Harry flicked his eyes back to the man, or Lou as the blond had called him. He was still sprawled on the floor, looking up at Harry through his lashes, grinning and looking pretty. His head was still cocked to a side, taking in Harry’s face while his eyes glinted curiously at him. He realised that Lou was still on the floor and would be needed to be picked up. Oh damn he should stop rehashing the obvious in his head and do something about it. Like speak up.

“Are you planning on staying there?” Harry questioned, pursing his lips to maintain a solemn facade.

“Yeah, the floor is quite cool and soothing to my bum,” Lou replied equally as solemn. “You’d like it down here.”

He could do banter then. Harry did excel at it. At times.

“I’m really tempted by your offer but my bum and I are quite content up here.” The two of them held back their laughter for exactly two seconds before they burst into giggles. “Need a hand?”

“Yes please,” Lou said before grabbing on to the said hand and letting himself being pulled up. Harry being Harry, lost his balance again, stumbling and making Lou stumble as well and they bumped into each other. Lou held on to Harry’s arms to stable himself and that was when he realised they were really close.

“Oops?” he muttered sheepishly. He and stumbling went hand in hand. Damn.

“Hi.” Lou sniggered and Harry knew exactly why. They had already said those exact same words before as well. And Lou remembered them. Like really remembered them. Harry was swooning already.

“We should really stop saying that,” Harry managed between laughter. This was a little too much.

“Or we could tattoo it on ourselves,” Lou conspired, raising his eyebrows conspiringly. His eyes were so blue and convincing that Harry almost wanted to follow it as well. Oh who was he kidding? He’d do anything for Louis. He was whipped. “In each other’s handwriting.”

“Like matching tattoos?” Harry whispered, keeping up with Lou’s tone and leaning in slightly. Lou shrugged. He wanted to add something. But before they could, they were rudely reminded that other people existed outside their unintentionally created bubble.

“This is crossing so many relationship boundaries,” Niall wailed, throwing his head back. “You don’t even know each other’s names, for god’s sakes.”

Yeah, they didn’t. Uhhh.

“Harry’s obsessed with you,” Liam blurted suddenly, making all heads turn towards him. His eyes went wide as he knew he shouldn’t have said that. But poor Liam, his intentions might be good but his actions always mess things up. Harry thought so. And also that he was going to kill Liam.

“Both as the guy he sketched and the artist he never met,” he added.

And it was like a light bulb flicked on top of Harry’s head. He was rather late on the uptake. So Lou was the ever elusive and utter beautiful Louis Tomlinson? And was also right out of Harry’s imagination? Wow. This had to be a dream.

“Really?” Louis’s eyebrow arched up, lips curled upwards, and he was right there, so close to Harry. None of them had moved back, perfectly content in invading each other’s private spaces. Louis’s hand was still on her bicep and the mere touch burnt his skin. As if the shorter boy (did Harry ever mention that Louis looked positively tiny?) was shooting fire out of his fingertips. But then he was like the sun so...

Harry shrugged. Or more like lifted his shoulder and then just gave up halfway. The mere presence of a person right from his dream was overwhelming. And the fact that the two people he wanted to meet most in the world were the same was just the cherry on top of the overwhelming happiness which was engulfing him. He was happy but he was paranoid in the fear of messing it up as well. Funny that.

“Tommo was pining after you so hard, by the way,” Niall piped up. As if he was eager to join in on the exposing of secrets. Just this one equalled the two artists and made Harry extremely giddy. “But then you probably already know it.” He tilted his head to a side, motioning towards the painting. And yeah, Harry did know. And he felt so embarrassingly jubilant about it, as well. He was just so in awe.

Harry knew it was him but he was happier that all his doubts had been cleared. And Louis actually remembered his face this well.

“Come on,” Louis groaned, stepping back to flick Niall’s ear. And Harry didn’t miss the warmth which was lost as Louis moved away. Not at all. The blond was quick though, skipping out of Louis’s outstretched fingers. The latter considered running after him, but then he happened to glanced back and remember that Harry was still standing there. He shrugged sheepishly and Harry craved the closeness they had before.

“I had to drag Harry here because he was busy moping,” Liam added in, making Harry’s cheek redden. He had the worst friend. Ever.

“We have the worst friends ever,” Harry confided in Louis. The latter agreed, with a solemn expression and nod.

“Hey!” He heard the concerned friends yell. It earned a few glares from the others around while Harry and Louis laughed unfazed. They were used to people staring and glaring at them anyway.

They kept their gazes on each other for a while until Harry saw the emotion in Louis’s eyes shift to something akin to nervousness. And guilt. And he knew an apology would be coming. It was frightening how much he knew about the other man so quickly.

“I’m sorry for running out on you that day,” Louis started, frown etched on his face. “I was on the phone and didn’t... I came back actually. The next day. And the day after. But you weren’t there. I was just...”

He shrugged, unable to complete the sentence. And never had Harry regretted more that he didn’t go back that week. He could’ve met Louis the next day... but then he wouldn’t get a painting of himself, would he? So yay?

“Yeah I was feeling down that week,” Harry lied, unable and embarrassed to confess the real reason. He was being stupid. It could be excusable right? “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Louis countered, eyebrows furrowed. “I should be sorry...”

“No I should be...”

“Well _‘sorry’_ to interrupt but seriously, stop it.” Harry and Louis both turned to glare at the annoying interrupter in the form of a fake-blond man. He needed to stop butting in and spoiling every moment.

Harry turned back to Louis, staring at the perfect cheekbones and how the light reflecting off them, before he spoke up. “We met again anyway so that's what matters right?”

Louis smiled at him, the glare melting away swiftly and taking on the fondest look he had ever known. “You are the kind of person who believes in fate and destiny and all that then?”

How’d he know, Harry wondered. Had he said that before or was he that easy to read? Then he realised that Louis might have just guessed, and knew he was right if he went by the smirk playing on the painter’s lips. A blush formed on the apples of Harry’s cheeks. “Well yeah.”

“I personally don’t.” Louis shrugged. “But then what do you call this huh.”

Harry bit his lip, unable to keep his smile in. This was the perfect person. The person he dreamed of. He finally found someone supportive. That was the trait he always looked for but never got. That's it. Harry was ready to settle down. Even if he was as young as he was.

Too soon?

Harry cleared his throat. Moving on. “Should we look at the other paintings then? Because that’s what you do when you are in an art gallery right?”

Louis’s cheeks turned a little pink for whatever reason. Harry didn’t know why.

“Oh, I was admiring the art right now,” Louis shot back suddenly, voice a little high. His eyes never swayed from Harry when he said it, which meant... was he calling Harry, art? Wait was he flirting?

Okay now Harry knew. He knew why Louis was blushing.

“Another bad pickup line, Lou?” Niall questioned, still from the spot not too far as he listened in. “Can’t you do any better?”

“Shut up Niall.” Harry looked at Louis who had the same look of awe as not one, but three had said the same words. Liam laughed from beside Niall. The other three joined in soon.

-

Louis had been a little reluctant to put up the mystery boy – Harry’s – painting in the gallery but at the end he was so glad he did it. Instead of calling Louis a creep, Harry was flattered and had praised him for his works. Which he didn’t expect in the slightest.

“So am I going to get to keep my painting?” Harry asked slyly, after they finished the tour and admiring the art pieces. Louis had found that Harry alternated between being extremely shy and being extremely bold. There wasn’t an in-between. He’d be blushing at a compliment one minute and praising Louis the next and making him blush instead. He really liked that switch. People were rarely ever shy and bold these days.

Or something like that.

“No. Its mine,” Louis protested, playfully crossing his hands over his chest. “And I’m going to keep it on the wall in my bedroom. Right beside that sketch you drew of me.” He gave a cheeky grin as well.

Harry grinned, refraining from adding something like a forwardly romantic proposition or saying something like ‘aww it is because we belong together forever?’. Because that’d be weird. Right?

Definitely weird. They had been recently acquainted with each other. Wait that was a heavy phrase where did he get it from. Maybe he picked it up from Louis. He was a walking dictionary anyway. Or was it thesaurus?

In his head, Harry could imagine Louis’s bedroom (he hadn’t seen it, he wasn’t creepy but a guy can guess alright) with paintings adorning his wall. The colourful painting he had painted along with Harry’s sketch hanging side by side and looking beautiful together. Just as beautiful as Harry and Louis looked beside each other. He could also see a few more sketches around which Harry planned on doing of Louis’s – his eyes especially. They were just gorgeous and looked like ice crystals. Or like the colour in the deepest of seas and brightest of skies. Or the rich blue colours on butterflies. Or something like that.

He had most likely zoned out there for a minute he thought. So he blinked away his imagination and tuned in to reality.

When Harry looked back at Louis, he found him furrowing his eyebrows at Liam. The latter’s face looked as if he had swallowed a sour lemon. Or he was thinking something he really didn’t want to.

“What’s with the sour face, Liam?” Harry asked, his brow furrowed as well. Niall was nowhere to be seen at the moment but he was out there somewhere, waiting for the right moment to pounce in on a conversation. Niall loved butting in on conversations, Harry had noted so far.

Liam shook his head, blinking quickly. “Nothing it’s just that... uh I had a horrific visual of you two in your bedroom doing ... whatever and the two pictures of you two watching over you.” His eyes widened comically, as if the scene was playing again in his head and took in a shaky breath.  “And it’s really weird.”

Louis stared grimly at Liam for a while before he started giggling, making Harry’s eyes stay glued to him, and his ears tune in to his laughter. Louis’s laugh was the sweetest melody ever to grace his ears. He would like to hear it all day. On repeat. There were two things on his mind. One, Louis. The other that Liam’s idea was really great. It would be like someone else was watching over them, but not really. That would be a great turn on. Or maybe Harry had an exhibitionist kink. Or he was weird.

Most likely the latter one.

Louis fluttered his eyelashes at Liam, raising his eyebrows slightly in mischief. In a very exaggerated stage-whisper-y voice, he said, “Aw Liam! Are they, like Hogwarts style paintings?”

“What?” Liam furrowed his eyebrows, in the way that Harry knew he was thinking hard. Harry glanced at him before staring at Louis, unabashed. He was like really pretty, especially when he fluttered his eyes. He swore there was golden glitter floating around him, touching him softly but not shining as bright as Louis himself did. His eyebrows were perfectly arched, hair perfectly ruffled and cheekbones perfectly glass. His face was perfect. He was perfect.

And Harry was lost in his beauty. And probably zoning out as well. Damn he zoned out a lot when Louis was concerned. He should really stop that.

Or maybe learn how to control it. Stopping it would be really hard, like impossible.

Louis blinked innocently as he leaned in, like the words which would come out of his mouth wouldn’t be teasing and something mischievous. “Like you know, watching? Moving? Real?” The last word was whispered really lowly, as if it was a secret to be heard only by the targeted person when it was anything but. Harry snapped his head in a hurry to gauge Liam’s reaction and burst out laughing at what he saw.

Liam’s face was pinched, a little green and eyes wide like saucers. Poor lad looked traumatised. At which Harry couldn’t help but laugh until all that came out was squeak like noises which were very embarrassing, yet he didn’t care. Louis was so funny. And Liam’s face was funny. Of course. But Louis was really funny.

When Harry turned to look at Louis, he was already looking back with a soft smile on his face. His eyes were shining bright and he looked younger than ever with the crinkles which danced around the corners of his eyes. He looked like sunshine and rainbows. Something he didn’t want to let go.

“Ew no!” Liam exclaimed after a moment, breaking up Harry’s and Louis’s stare-fest. He shook his head wildly, looking like a dog out of water. Niall’s crackles and Louis’s quiet giggles mixed in with Harry raucous laughter. “That visual just got even creepier. Why would you do that?”

Louis stopped giggling (he shouldn’t have. He looked so cute with those quiet tinkles of musical notes, called giggles by other people, with his hand daintily draped over his lips to reign them in) and frowned all of a sudden. He still looked really beautiful, Harry thought absently, even with lines on his forehead and eyebrows smashed together. “I don’t know. Why would you think that in the first place?”

“It was just a thought...”

“What kind of person...”

Harry grinned as he watched Louis and Liam bicker like long lost friends. Or siblings. Siblings fight like champs. He’d know; he grew up with an older sister. He was happy to see that his best friend and future boyfriend were getting along. Okay, boyfriend might be farfetched but it would happen. He was sure. Too sure. This was his happy ending.

Okay too much.

“Harry, control your boyfriend.”

Harry was shook out of his head. He gaped wide eyed at Liam and Louis was mirroring him. _They had just met_. Liam should know better than to scare Louis off so soon. He might not even be into boys for heaven’s sakes.

“At least let me take him on a date, Payne!” Harry shrieked, before he could think better of it. He slapped his hands to his mouth and tried to calm his heartbeat. Panic was rising in his veins and his throat might just close up with anxiety. Shit shit shit. He was coming on too strong. This was not going well. Abort abort, _Mission Forever_ abort.

“Okay,” Louis said simply, eyes locking in on Harry’s.

“What?”

“I’ll go on a date with you.” 

Louis’s eyes shined clear blue, calm and composed with no doubt or ridicule hidden anywhere in them. They were sincere, encouraging and calmed his heartbeat. For a minute, Harry was lost staring at Louis. He lost track of time and lost the subject of the conversation.

That was until he was rudely pulled out of his head by a loud, annoying Irishman who interrupted yet another conversation. Or silence. Or both.

“Did you just gave yourself a self-invite, Louis?”

“That’s totally redundant,” Louis deadpanned before catching on to the meaning of the sentence. His cheeks flushed a lovely pink as his eyes turned a little wild. “Shut up Niall. It’s more like I asked myself out.”

That wasn’t nervous, Harry told himself. Louis wasn’t nervous. He had asked himself out on a date. With Harry. He wanted to go on a date with Harry. Harry who should very much accept. For which he’d have to open his mouth.

But Louis was already speaking with Niall.

“There wasn’t even a question,” Niall protested, eyebrows drawn together and hands crossed over his chest.

“Listen here –”

“Go on a date with me Louis,” Harry blurted out, surprising everyone including himself with how loud it was. A few heads turned, a few people complained and between the four, the three stared at Harry.

Louis’s surprise was soon replaced with joy and his lips stretched into a beaming smile. The corner of his eyes crinkled and the blue of his eyes twinkled and he shone like the sun. “Okay.”

“Really?” Harry couldn’t believe it still. An angel had agreed to go out with him. He was blessed.

“You’re really slow on the uptake,” Louis said fondly as he tilted his head to a side, drawing closer and closer until they stood toe to toe with matching maniacally wide grins on their faces. Louis tipped his head up to look him in the eyes and his gaze flicked quickly to his lips and back. Raising his eyebrows slightly, he whispered softly, “Now kiss me you fool.”

Harry wouldn’t refuse that order so he didn’t waste any time in kissing him. He wasn’t that slow alright. He could take a hint. It just didn’t have to be that subtle. A bit more obvious.

But that wasn’t to be focused upon. He was kissing Louis. Actually kissing him. And kissing him was cliché because what part of their story wasn’t. There were fireworks and colour bursts and summertime and butterfly which all belonged to their creation. There was fluttering in his belly and fire in his veins and it just felt like it had never before. Every other sound was drowned out and he almost could ignore Niall’s hoots and Liam’s attempts at shushing him. Almost. (That boy was really loud and annoying. He was lucky he was liked by all).

Finally, everything was right in the world again.

-

 

The morning air was cool against his face, making him smile ever so slightly. Of course, it turned into a grimace every time someone knocked into him – which was often – but this was refreshing. It gave him a change from paint fumes and lectures.

Months had gone by, but Louis’s liking for walks hadn’t waned. Since that time, he always went out – dodging the pedestrians, watching the scene and drawing inspiration from everything. Who knows how life may surprise him.

A good surprise, not a bad one.

Since he met Harry, everything was just looking _up up up_. Never down. His life was perfect, which was surprising, since he always thought he was content with life the way it was. See, surprises. That taught him, being knocked down on his feet didn’t always mean you’ll regret it. Life is better at the bottom er...

He joined drama school, taking Harry’s words to his heart. He was right though, Louis did have a ‘flair for dramatics’. And he hadn’t quit it yet so it was good. He and Harry had also moved in together a few months back, a step Louis never thought he’d take with someone (who he was romantically involved with, of course but Harry was his best friend as well so) but they never moved with a normal pace anyway.

“Hey honey I’m home,” Louis announced, dropping the keys on the table near the door. Harry had insisted they keep it there. It was a shoe rack but Louis used it as a table. Shoes were for throwing all over the floor. Who liked things organised, not him. That's what he did as he stepped in the living room. Harry would pick it up anyway. He loved being domestic, which surprised no one in the least.

Harry was sitting on the couch, eyes focused on the sketchpad in his hand. His hand moved languidly over the paper, eyebrows drawn together in concentration. It was always a sight to watch Harry draw. He drew with such immense focus that it made him look so lost in art and Louis loved to watch him. It never gets old.

Silently, Louis tiptoed over to him and threw his hands over his shoulders and wrapped himself around his boyfriend’s back. Boyfriend – heavy word, deep meaning. Harry smiled, leaning back into his touch without realising he did, like it was some habit of his. Which it was. Louis smiled into his neck, breathing him in for a minute.

“What are you doing?” he asked, a little redundantly, since it was clear as day that Harry was sketching. But still.

“Sketching,” Harry said faux seriously. Louis snorted. “You know you can look, right?”

“You know you can tell, right?” Louis teased back, looking over his shoulder anyway. It was a sketch of two hands – their hands – entwined together with their wrist tattoos detailed and the fingers looking delicate. Louis’s hand was on top of Harry’s, while the latter’s huge palm was half hidden beneath. It looked beautiful. Louis inwardly smiled. Over the time, Harry had developed a strange obsession with Louis’s hands. More like an obsession with drawing Louis’s hands. He claimed that they were a masterpiece who drew masterpieces. Louis claimed Harry used too much of the word ‘masterpiece’.

Louis outwardly sighed, dragging it as long as he could. He liked feigning dread every time he saw Harry sketching him. It was fun; he was studying drama after all and he rather liked the fond eye roll that earned him. Harry pretended to be annoyed at his reaction and failed every time, dimpling as he pursed his lips. Dork.

“Don’t we have enough of sketches of my hand all over our house?” Louis teased, cocking an eyebrow amusedly. He flung himself over the back of the couch, landing gracefully (thankfully) on the couch.

Harry smiled at him fondly while trying to look affronted. He failed at looking either, but surely did look like a confused frog. It was cute. “Says the one who’s painted about twenty paintings of me and hung it all over the place?”

“Fair point.” Louis shook his head fondly, biting his lip. He did paint Harry a lot. Uh like paint Harry on paper. Whatever. But in his defence, Harry was art waiting to be taken down on something. It could be used in Harry’s defence as well but Louis won’t let him have it.

In the meanwhile, the two of them just stared at one another and took each other in. The silence around them was comforting, like a blanket wrapped around oneself during a chilly winter night. They liked revering each other in peace. It was a habit as well. Louis almost laughed at it. They were so in love it was vomit inducing. Who cared though? They liked being grossly in love with another.

“I’ll never get tired of painting you,” Louis said softly, voice low so as to not shatter the bubble of silence around them. He watched Harry’s face light up, eyes brighten and nose scrunching in a way it always does when he tries to subconsciously stifle his fondness and failed. He couldn’t help but think that Harry looked ten times brighter and there were little pink hearts floating all over the place which were made from the intensity of their love... and okay. Maybe he was spending too much time around Harry and his sappiness. Maybe he should cut it back.

Or not.

Something in Harry’s expression shifted. It went from fond to something cheeky. “I know.” There was an impish grin on his lips, splitting his face in half. Smug little bastard.

Maybe he needed to be shown his place.

So Louis did the most mature and logical thing and shoved Harry off the couch. His eyes widened as he began to slip off and grabbed the arm of the couch. The sketchpad in his hand flew away along with the pencil. Harry was a clumsy little thing (more like a giant oaf) so in spite of holding on to the arm, his bum still landed on the floor as he fell in comical way.

Louis’s face turned red with the giggles he had nobly held back but couldn’t anymore. His tinkling laughter filled up the room, bouncing off the edges. Harry looked halfway annoyed and halfway awed by Louis’s laughter. So his face looked even more comical, sending Louis into another fit of giggles.

“What was that for?” Harry groaned. He let go of the one hand holding to the couch and righting himself. It came out too fond rather than affronted.

“Showing you your place.”

“On the floor?”

Louis was busy distracted laughing and clutching his stomach so he didn’t notice the streak of mischief in Harry’s eyes and was left gasping when suddenly he was pulled to the floor. In a minute, the plush pillow-y surface under his bum changed to the cold hard floor and he was surprised by it. His eyes were wide and lips open mid-laughter and he just stared at Harry for a minute before realising – oh he had to be huffy.

So he huffed, glaring at his irksome boyfriend. “What?”

Harry smiled too innocently than the situation entailed. Louis found his eyes crinkling in endearment even when it shouldn’t. Did they ever stay mad at each other for longer than a minute? Well sometimes during the mini fights but they didn’t count. “But honey, that's your place not mine.”

The higher tilt Harry added to his voice to make himself sound like Louis made his voice squeaky and chipmunk-y. Both the boys found themselves chuckling, with each other rather than at each other. If Niall were around, he’d be groaning and not letting their conversation flow. He interceded a lot. But he claimed it was out of love and was to be forgiven. Louis said it was forbidden.

Louis’s eyes landed on one of his paintings of Harry. It was of him mid-laugh, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut making the same honk laughter he was doing now. Harry noticed his gaze and let his laughter mellow down slowly, turning into something fond. He smiled lovingly at his boyfriend.

Louis smiled back. “You know, I’ll always paint my love for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> hope you all like it :) kudos and comments are appreciated.  
> i imagined harry the artist as [this](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CTPgiypUsAAxGc8.jpg)  
> i'm on [twitter ](https://twitter.com/rainbowslovehl)as well. come and say hi.


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